Fallen
by Unique .F
Summary: Forgotten memories lead to broken hearts... Cowritten with xx myth master xx
1. Prolouge

Murtagh

Pain, excruciating, blood wrenching, nerve racking pain!

He screamed, the bloody tissue of his throat making him cough, a harsh, bloody sound.

The evil king's probe swatted aside his pitiful walls as easily as he would kill a fly.

More memories...gone...

"NO!" he yelled.

But it was too late...

His entire life flashed before his eyes. Zar'roc branding his back, Tornac's death, rescuing Eragon and Saphira, Brom's death, the first time he had met Nasuada...Nasuada...

"NO! ...no...no..."

The battle of Farthen Dur, being captured by the Twins, being brought before Galbatorix, Thorn's hatching, defeating Eragon at the Burning Plains, everything.

Everything.

Right up until he had returned from the simple scouting mission.

Going...

"NO! NOT HER!"

Going...

Gone.

Gone...

Sucked out by Galbatorix.

Gone...

Empty...

Echoing...

More memories, alien memories, began to flow into his head. Thorn screeched.

_He had lived in the castle all his life, since his birth and the death of his mother. His father Galbatorix had been heartbroken over such a loss._

_Galbatorix was the bearer of an unfortunate legacy. His old order, the corrupt Riders, killed his young dragon Jarvunosk. Forced to see truth, Galbatorix realised the riders had to be overthrown. They were corpulent, lax, and gained and suppressed humans. Elves too controlled the lesser beings, guiding the world in a misshaped abhorrent construction of the beauty it could be. _

_He purged a dragon hatchling from such malevolent destruction, and named the creature he had saved Shruikian. Shruikian always had carried the corruption from his early days, no matter Galbatorix's help._

_With the help of thirteen deviants of the corrupt Riders, who had seen the error in their ways, he freed Alageasia. _

_Unfortunately, a misguided rebel named Brom, who's young dragon suicided in the attack, formed a group of traitors named the Varden._

_A rebel had recently stole the last female dragon egg, Shruikian's pride and joy. The female that had hatched was twisted, forced to serve under gilded lies. _

_His dragon Blohdwren, or Blood Oath in the human tongue, had hatched for him when he was thirteen. His poor crimsonBlohdwren had fallen in love with the female Saphira, misguided and twisted though she was, and in result was especially keen to end the war with traitorous rebels, part of the dead Riders, and restore peace to the stricken female's mind. _

_Soon the Riders would be brought back, to govern gently of Galbatorix's fiefdoms. Poverty would be abolished. The land would finally be purged, and the miscreant elves and Varden could feel the pain Galbatorix, his father, had laboured under._

_He had named his son Morzan Galbatorixsson._

The new Morzan Galbatorixsson rose from the floor, leaving the old Murtagh Morzansson behind.

Blohdwren roared, through the old Thorn's body.

"Father," Morzan Galbatorixsson said, with Murtagh Morzansson's voice, "I pay my homage to you."


	2. Chapter 1, Belatona

_Belatona_

Nasuada

Things were going well.

Sort of, Nasuada amended, as she swung her sword through the neck of another soldier. Battlestorm reared, bringing his sharp hooves down to cleave in another's face.

Around her the battle of Belatona raged, enemy soldiers falling like ninepins, Varden soldiers not so much.

Nasuada smiled a somewhat feral, manic smile to her enemies that crowded before her and her fearsome guards.

The tally on whole was in good favor for the Varden. Murtagh hadn't shown up yet, which was good in most ways except one. Her heart constricted painfully as it always did when she thought of Murtagh.

As if to counteract her mental statement, a long, low horn, a horn that she knew all to well, sounded across the battlefield. From the horizon dipped Thorn, eyes alight with bloodlust, Murtagh, face twisted into a scowl of rage so black it put the night to shame, upon his back.

Eragon

He leapt upon Saphira, urging her into the air with a desperate voice. He drew Brisingr, the blue blade glinting in the light, blood still splashed from his most recent enemy across its arc.

"Murtagh, you coward!" Eragon roared at his half brother.

An insane gleam leapt in Murtagh's eyes. "I am not Murtagh."

Thorn hissed in accordance, great vermilion wings beating as he eyed them with vengeful eyes.

"I am Morzan. Hear my name, and tremble. We_will_capture you, Blohdwren_will_get his mate, and the miscreants_will_be defeated. Galbatorix shall reign supreme, and the land shall flourish." Murtagh hissed.

Eragon was aghast. All through their association, Murtagh had hated his father, hated the Empire. But now, he was willingly siding with them...And who was this Blohdwren?

_I will never mate with the traitor you name Blohdwren!_Saphira roared, and struck out.

A fleeting emotion crossed Thorn's face, then it was gone. Like his Rider...Murtagh was gone.


	3. Chapter 2, Orders

_Chapter 2, Orders...Orders._

Morzan

"Your orders are simple."

Morzan knelt before his father's onyx throne, with the black dragon lurking in the shadows behind. No light streamed through into the throne room, as it were lit only by flickering torches that added to the aura of 'evil' , and 'madness' that everyone said the king had.

Shruikian's glimmering golden eyes raked the Red Rider with a sad, melancholy air. He shivered.

Something was profoundly wrong.

The king himself was a young looking man, with black eyes full of unconsolable loss. Within those dark holes burned something else, that slightly scared Morzan every time he was required to look the king in the eyes. His black hair was close cropped, almost as if he had a bald black head. His nose was proud, almost eagle shaped.

Behind him Blohdwren shifted slightly closer to his Rider, eyes intent on the lonely figure sitting on the throne made of dragonbone.

"Kill the leader. Forget about the blue dragon for the moment, kill the leader." Galbatorix's voice was smooth, but it lacked the honeyed tones.

"W-which one?" Morzan asked.

"Nasuada. Kill the woman."

Morzan gasped, eyes shooting open. Something rose within him, struggling, desperate for relief.

_NO! NOT HER! Not her..._

Trembling as if with the ague, Morzan fell to the cold marble, writhing on the floor.

" _I must!"_

_Resist! NOT HER!_

"_never!"_

_NO!_

Blohdwren roared, eyes flashing from their usual black to red.

_MURTAGH!_

Then in a flash, it was over.

Breathing deeply, Morzan struggled to his feet. "I am deeply sorry my lord. I don't know what came over me."

Blohdwren nosed his side, black eyes troubled.

"Excused." Galbatorix's black eyes were thoughtful. "Kill the woman, then return to me. I don't care whether Dras'leona falls or not."

Nasuada

The brown skinned woman sighed.

The stars sparkled iin the nighttime sky, surpassed only by the glow of the oxbow moon. They were like pure chips of glass nestled in a blanket of pure velvet black.

Nasuada pulled off her hood, gazing up at the white moon.

Her long, oily eyelashes brushed against her dark skinned face as she blinked against the brightness, which illuminated her long nose, almond, dark brown, caring, loving eyes, a delicate lipped mouth, framed by black hair pulled back in a leather band.

_My life is falling apart. _Thought she, and unseen in the midnight glow, her eyes shone with the glisten of unshed tears.

Murtagh...had gone. In his place was a monster, his father incarnate. Thorn too, was taken over by some mysterious force. Both Eragon and Saphira had shown her their memories of the encounter during the battle of Belatona, describing the venom in Murtagh's voice.

All she knew was that he was gone. Gone where? Maybe there was a hope, a small, pure white dove in the darkness that shrouded her entire soul. Maybe he could be saved. Maybe the Murtagh that she knew and loved, the man she had spent hours mourning and the horror filled, grief stricken reaction, so bad, that she had tried to kill herself once he had gone, only to be rescued at the last minute.

They had been forbidden lovers, the joy of the secrecy, but yet how could she not feel bitterness toward him for what he had done?

"Murtagh..." she whispered. "Oh Murtagh...What have you become?"

Unseen in the night, a diamond tear randown her almond cheek, a glittering dome of sorrow.


	4. Chapter 3, Black, Grey

_Chapter 3, Black,Grey_

Blohdwren

Sadness weighed heavily upon the enormous red dragon, black eyes glinting with profound sadness.

_Oh Morzan, why do we have to do this? Why can't she see sense? _Blohdwren moaned to his Rider, vermilion wings stroking the sky as he soared toward the derelict city of Dras'Leona.

"_Blohdwren...My blood-oath, you must know the reason...Saphira is bound, along with Eragon, by black magics and poisoinous oaths by the dwarves, and especially Islanzadi, that treacherous snake. Us humans have constantly been repressed, of lesser importance, ever since we arrived in Alageasia. The Riders were nothing more then tools for the elves. Even now, their corruption exists in the land..." _Morzan's speech was legendary, but they both knew the heart ache that Blohdwren suffered. Saphira was the last female of his entire race.

_I cannot help but wonder if she is right. Surely, one so noble as Saphira could not be quite so severly misguided...But then I call myself stupid and correct my mind on the course ahead..._Blohdwren replied, turning a onyx eye toward the large army of soldiers that accompanied them.

Satisfied that they were at a sufficiently reasonable pace of marching, Blohdwren airly preformed a backward loop, causing Morzan to whoop.

Guilt racked him as he once again remembered the sapphire scaled dragoness, the very one he had yearned to have as his, the very one that he spent his nights longing for, the very one whom he was forced to attack upon sight. His was a doomed love, but that elusive glimpse, glimpse of hope, that his Lord, may he live for ever!, might give them more of the Hearts, so he could capture her, and bring her to his home... Blohdwren spent many a free time fantasising about what Saphira would say about the castle, The Lord, may he live for ever!, Master the black dragon, the dragonhold, everything! Of course, once her senses had been restored to her.

Blohdwren allowed himself a savage growl as the blot that was Dras'Leona resolved itself into an outline of houses. The flanged cathedral loomed over all.

Today, he would bathe his hide in the blood of his enemies. Saphira unfortunately was not going to be accompanying him this time, but in the meantime, he could destroy the rebel leader, Nasuada.

_Soon, Saphira, _he vowed, _I will free you from your chains, and make you my eternal mate. _

Eragon

Decimating another soldier, Eragon swung round, beheading on of it's brethren before the Empire soldier could gut him. Beside him, Saphira roared, releasing a jet of fire, cooking the remaining five in their armour. The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the warriors of both Varden and Empire alike, slowing reflexes and parching throats. The blinding glare revealed the pure squalid atmosphere, the decrepit houses, filth coated streets, deformed beggars, and yapping dogs.

When the Empire had arrived in the city two days prior to the Varden attack, instead of barring up and forcing the Varden to siege, they instead had spent their time executing the beggars and conscripting for the army. Their evation puzzled Eragon, it was almost as if Galbatorix was _inviting _the Varden to attack. Even more suspiscious, Murtagh and Thorn were nowhere to be seen.

_Little one. _Saphira's tired voice echoed in his mind. They had been fighting from sun up, and even the mighty dragoness was loosing some of her formidable strength. _Little one, I must take to the air. The streets grow too narrow...Destroy the remainder of the men for me._

Surprised by her sudden capulation, when he had been asking her for hours, Eragon replied, _Raze the cathedral to the ground, friend of my heart._

Blood streaked sapphire scales glinting, Saphira took off, releasing a plume of blue flame. Then she wheeled, heading toward the cathedral.

Eragon fought on, donating killing blows left and right as he danced among soldiers to tired, weak, and slow to predict his advances. Brisingr lived up to it's name, flames running almost a metre high from the brilliant blue blade. Red blood, sap from the men's veins, stained scarlet the soft loam, making bloody trickles form in large rivulets.

Soon, the men Eragon had set out to kill, ones that tormented the Varden, halting them before the palace, were dead.

As if to counteract his relief, a familiar roar sounded.

He swore.

He cursed.

He swore again.

For riding high in the sky, the illusion of clear skies gone, was Murtagh, and his blood red beast Thorn.

Immediatley, Eragon twisted, killing the twelve remaining soldiers with a word, and called out to Saphira, before walling his thoughts behind an impenetrable barrier.

Diving and twisting through the air with all the speed she could muster, for if Murtagh and Thorn attacked her while she were riderless, she would be at an extreme disatvandatge, Saphira shot toward him.

Arya's mind suddenly found his, linked with the other twelve elves and Gleadr. Then, Eragon shielded himself from all but Arya and Saphira.

"_Why didn't we find them!" _Eragon railed angrily, leaping onto Saphira. _"I should have been able to detect their minds!"_

"_Eragon, concentrate! You _must _stop Murtagh!" _Arya's voice pushed away his anger and worry, renewing his strength.

With an almighty roar, the two dragons collided with the force of an earthquake. They scrabbled at one another frantically, trying to gain leverage. Saphira attempted to bite Thorn at the base of his neck, but while her chest was unprotected, Thorn twisted and snapped at her shoulder.

Saphira roared.

Eragon hacked at Thorn's muzzle, causing the red dragon to hiss and withdraw. Saphira raked Thorn's wing, managing to tear through the flight membrane, causing serious damage.

With a howl, Thorn disengaged, tumbling toward the ground uncontrollably. Saphira dived towards him, pressing her advantage.

"_Arya, can you heal Saphira's shoulder for me?" _Eragon asked the elf.

In answer, he felt the strain of magic, then the exhaustion that followed.

"_Try and stay closer to the ground. That was not easy." _Arya urged.

Meanwhile, Murtagh had healed Thorn's wing, and the pair was now winging their way toward Saphira and Eragon, black eyes dark with fury.

As soon as they were close enough, Murtagh cried, "Letta!"

Immediatley Eragon found invisible chains binding him and Saphira in place. Together, they tumbled towards the ground, Saphira howling between her clenched teeth as the wind snapped her wings.

Eragon cried out in agony, unable to move his mouth, arms burning with pain.

Just before they hit the ground, Murtagh slowed their descent enough that they would not die.

Eragon cried out again as the rough landing jarred Saphira's sensitive, broken wings, scarlet blood streaming from the wounds.

_How could he overpower us this early on? _ Eragon wondered.

"Esaeler siht gninosirpmi Saphira et em!" It was well that he had thought to make the magic a process, as it quickly became obvious he could not prevail. If he had been free to move, his legs would have given way.

"It would be so easy to take you back." Murtagh taunted, dismounting Thorn. "Your pathetic,you really are. Can't you see how you've been manipulated?"

Thorn prowled over to Saphira, touching her neck with his snout. He laughed, a peculiar, coughing growl.

Eragon wanted to shiver, and run away as fast as his legs could carry him. To his alarm, Arya and the other elves had been blocked out of his consciousness.

Adopting a gentler tone, Murtagh crouched next to Eragon. "My father and I have worked ceaselessly so that you, Eragon, and Saphira, can join us. We have devised a spell, one that will free you from your oaths to the elves. Don't you see? The riders were no more then pawns to the elves and dwarves. _You _are no more then a pawn. That can change. Together, humans can rise. _Humans _can be the ones in charge."

Thorn growled an affirmative, lying down and gazing at Saphira with onyx eyes that somehow Galbatorix had induced in him.

"Morzan was nothing but a misguided fool! Galbatorix deserves to die!" Eragon shouted, finding his mouth free to move.

"I _am _Morzan, Eragon. I am Morzan Galbatorixsson, faithful servant of the Lord, may he live for ever, and the Master, his black dragon. Soon, you shall know the joy that is ours." Murtagh replied.

Eragon gazed at him, horror stricken. "Murtagh!"

"My name is not Murtagh." Murtagh hissed. He turned his attention to Saphira. "Ah...Bjartskular."

Eragon glared at him, slightly surprised by his knowledge of Saphira's elvish nickname.

"You have a magnificent destiny..." He chuckled. "And Blohdwren here has kept me up many a night dreaming about a possible outcome."

Saphira growled, stabbing out with her thoughts. _I will never mate with you, nor Shruikan! _

At her words, Thorn gave a whimper.

"You have no choice." Murtagh hissed. "We will correct you, and make you see sense...Our every move has caused us, him, almighty pain...We do not _wish _to hurt either of you. But we will if we must..."

Blohdwren hissed, black eyes territorial. _But our mission is not this._

"Yes..." Murtagh's expression turned thoughtful.

Then he turned, vaulted onto his dragon, and flew off.

Eragon howled with shared pain, betrayal, at their gruesome fate. Murtagh's spell hadn't been lifted...He would either freeze here in the winter night, or forced to wait as his dragon's life force slowly dimmed, seeping out of her wounds, while he was unable to do anything, and wait to be rescued...

Nasuada

Now was the most scary moment in her entire life. Nothing could compare to the frightening beauty of a gigantic, vermilion beast, dropping from the heavens, scarlet onyx flame erupting from it's maw. Every scale glinted, a pure, glittering ruby, the very colour of the sap of men's limbs. The wings were the shade of wine held before a lantern. The onyx black eyes glittered with determination, fury, and that evil...The very pupil was the slightest slit of weak, sickly red, the only reminder of who had previously inhabited that body...The flames were black, pure onyx, with streaks of slightly stronger red running through it. The teeth, red, dyed red...No, nothing she had ever seen scared her as much as that.

The Rider, garbed in bloodstained black armour, was just as fearsome. Zar'roc gleamed in his hand, bright as a nail. His eyes were onyx, deep abysses of ancient madness, stemmed from the being that controlled him.

He was fearsome, he was blood chilling, but he was...heart stopping. When she saw him, her palms sweated and her heart beat raced, her thoughts turning unbidden to quiet promises and stolen kisses under the stars.

Desperate to regain some sort of balance, Nasuada retreated into the centre of her guards. The two Urgals planted themselves in front of her, the two dwarves to the side, and the humans at the back.

His voice was cold. Cold, but inspired chills up her spine. Nasuada suddenly went hot, then very cold. "I have come to kill you. I will kill you, and Blohdwren shall feast on your remains."

His words turned Nasuada very, very cold. She trembled as if with the ague, suddenly unaccountably scared of her lover.

Then Murtagh lifted Zar'roc, and slowly, deliberately, stepped off Thorn's outstretched leg. The dragons eyes glittered with a macabre glee.

Nasuada raised her own weapon, a long, leaf bladed short sword, augmented with a large buckler. Battlestorm snorted, disturbed.

The warriors stepped towards each other, and Murtagh smoothly raised Zar'roc into a ready position. The Nighthawks smoothed themselves into a line, defending her.

Nasuada wondered where the hell everyone else had gone.

Then, everything...collided. She had no words for what happened next, it was all a blur. But in a few, short minutes, the best warriors of all three races had fallen, and Battlestorm mortally wounded by an ill thrown spear. Nasuada knew she had no chance. She knew she could not hope to prevail. She knew now, the Varden was doomed...

Zar'roc clashed with her nameless blade. Instantly the red sword cut through her own, severing it through the hilt. With inhuman speed, Murtagh tripped her, then pressed Zar'roc against her collarbone.

"Too easy." He murmured. For a second, a fleeting second, his eyes turned grey. The grey she knew...

Grey.

Black.

Grey.

Black.

Grey...Murtagh's grey.

Murtagh fought against Morzan. Behind him, Blohdwren roared, eyes flashing from Thorn, to Blohdwren.

For a brief second, hope blossomed within her. Then, it was stamped out, as it was replaced by a cold, hard sneer.

"Time to die." He hissed.

Nasuada closed her eyes. She sighed. _I always wondered how it would feel to die...I guess I'll see you soon, father, mother...Murtagh._

For within her heart, she knew now, Murtagh was dead. If he could kill her, without pause, then the Murtagh she knew and loved. Then, suddenly, pain exploded in her skull and she lost consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5, Darkness Emerging

_Chapter 5, Darkness Emerging  
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Nasuada

The first thing she noticed was the darkness. It was all around her, stifling, cold, echoing, empty, but also oddly comforting. Darkness's inky black depths swirled around her, jet pools of liquid onyx.

Somehow, she was very calm, even though her entire body should be screaming at her to move.

Nasuada touched her clothing, feeling the rough canvas tunic scrape against her skin. Simarly poor trousers covered her legs, almost as if they had been made of sack cloth. Taking a deep breath, Nasuada attempted to study her surroundings more clearly.

Of sounds, all she could hear was the deep, rhythmic breathing of some huge beast, a dull, irritating, _doink, doink, _and disembodied moans that ran through the stone walls of her cell.

Nothing smelled new here. Damp, sweat, mould, blood...And an odd muskiness that for the life of her Nasuada could not identify, but was strangely comforting, a half forgotten dream.

But in fact the darkness surrounding her wasn't complete. A thin bar of red light snuck from a keyhole, locked, illuminating a thin panel of light.

Finally, Nasuada got to her feet, wincing as her head throbbed and her entire body ached in unison.

_Why am I here? _She thought numbly. The most she could remember of the recent events had been a battle, then a dragon's roar, then black.

With trembling fingers, Nasuada touched the wall for balance, overcome by a wave of dizziness. The cool stone was coated with a thick layer of slime, and was jaggedly shaped, made to be cool, cold, hard, and unforgiving. Swaying, she staggered over to the keyhole and put her eye to it. All she could see was the baggy membrane of a folded red wing, that let through a key of weak light.

Then a new sound availed itself to her.

A squeak.

Nasuada whirled around, despite her momentary dizziness. And gasped.

For, lying innocently on the rocky, gravelly floor that had seen too much blood, glittering, was a long, green, oval object, about a foot long.

Nasuada knew instantly what this mysterious object was, and knelt, warily picking it up.

Nothing could ever be as polished as stone-this _egg-_was. It's flawless surface, cool, hard, and smooth, almost slick to the touch, was a pure, deep green, excepting thin bands of white that spiderwebbed across it. It weighed several pounds, though because of it's hollowness, was lighter then it should be.

The thin, watery red light snaking in from the keyhole gave it an elusive, wild look. A green glow, a green miasma, seemed to hang around it, innocent light emitted in darkness.

Nasuada found the egg beautiful, strange, unearthly, malovelent, but yet, innocent, pure and true. _Why was it put here with me? _

A tremor ran through her hands, a squeak issuing from the egg. With a startled cry, Nasuada dropped the egg and scooted back, memories pouring through the tempory barrier.

The Battle of Belatona...They'd been winning...The Varden...Eragon and Saphira falling...Thorn...And Murtagh, coming for her...Then, darkness.

Interrupting her sudden clarity of thought, the stone wobbled frantically, peeping occasionally. Transfixed, Nasuada leaned forward, watching with rapt eyes as the egg began to rock wildly. Then a crack appeared.

And another.

Then another.

In the middle, where all the cracks met, a small, ivory claw, weak with birth, poked through. Desperately rocking back and forth, the claw ripped consistently at the shell, hacking away another small part.

A quiet _thunk _ vibrated inside the egg as the dragon thwacked it's head against the shell. The beginnings of it's ivory horns showed through the small crack.

The egg paused, then began rocking more wildly then ever, peeping like a little boy with a new whistle. Finally, the entire shell shattered.

Fragments of green egg shell ricocheted in every direction, including Nasuada's. The woman barley noticed as a sharp faceted fragment buried itself in her leg, drawing blood.

For standing quietly in the vermilion tinted light, was a dragon, licking off the membrane that had encased it.

It was barely longer then her forearm, Nasuada realised, wondering. The small, roundish scales were a deep green, the same colour as the egg. A slightly lighter shade patterned it's belly, giving the dragonet a mottled appearance.

The tail was about as long again as the rest of it's body, ending in a green tinted spike. The dragon fanned it's wings, casting a greenish shadow on the ground. They were several times larger then the body and was ribbed by thin fingers of bone, forming widely spaced wing-talons. The dragon's head was roughly triangular, with two diminutive white fangs curving from it's upper jaw. The claws were white also, tinted with the slightest hint of green, and slightly serrated on the inside curve. A gap where it's neck and shoulders joined created a largish hollow between the spines, which ran up the dragonets entire body.

Awed, Nasuada's breath came out in one large _whoosh. _

Suddenly, hard, sage green orbs fixed upon her own. Nasuada held very still. Weaving on unsteady legs, the dragonet stalked towards her, his eyes intent on her face.

Bidden by some instinctual motive, Nasuada stretched out her brown palm. The dragon stretched out it's snout, eyes glittering, and brushed her palm.

For a split second, Nasuada felt nothing.

Then liquid fire rushed through her veins.

Burning.

Searing.

Changing.

Then, she fell, comforted by darkness...


	6. Chapter 6, Skjor

**Unique Fantasiser: Hey guys, sorry we havn't updated in so long. Myth master had exams and I drowned in schoolwork. But we're back in the loop now and will be updating much more hopefully!**

_Chapter 6, Skjor_

When Nasuada awoke, everything was different.

Or so it appeared.

For one, she was warm. Comfortable. Clean.

She was wearing something of the most beautiful soapy texture, a gown woven of the finest threads. This at first seemed normal.

A profound sense of wrongness pervaded her entire mind, and yet, a curious feel of utter and complete _belonging. _Her mind felt open, exposed, like she were a mouse underneath the vice eye of a hunting owl, while it drifted on silent wings, unbeknownst to it's prey. A curious tendril slid over her mind, like the horrible feel of wet wool over sensitive flesh. It solidified, into a general feel of sleepiness and subdued hunger.

Somewhere something was bubbling, giving off a soothing, lulling noise that softened the mind. The air was scented with honeyed lavender. The sheets underneath her was as soft as silk, softer even, and as warm as the belly of a dragon.

It was then she opened her eyes.

As she had expected, she was not in the dungeon any more. Nasuada was lying on a bed underneath a velvet red, deep and seductive, duvet. The sheets and pillows were whiter then freshly fallen snow and softer then the most padded of leaf beds. The frame was made of dark cherry walnut, which set off the reds in the bed. The texture of the wood was not grainy at it's appearance led her to believe, but soapy and smooth. The occasional whorl created new smoothed crevices in the wood.

As expected, there were wine red drapes concealing her from the rest of the world. The embroidered cloth hanging over the top of the bed, acting as a ceiling, had the image of a dragon picked out in gold thread. To her surprise, the velvet folds allowed enough space for walnut bedside table. Flickering it's red yellow brilliance, a solitary candle cast shifting shadows upon the bed. It was little more then a stub.

A cheep startled her. Nasuada glanced down at the dragon nestled in the crook of her arm, and smiled the first true smile she had since Murtagh had taken her from Dras'Leona. He cheeped again, like a hungry chick, gazing up at her with his soulful, winged eyes.

Nasuada had never seen that in a dragon before. Not that she'd the chance to study a dragon's eyes that closely. Her new dragonet's eyes slanted upwards at the ends, like an elf's. It gave him a unqiue rakish, hawk like look. He had flanged spires running down his back, which gave him a fearsome warrior appearance. To complete the look, he had a large wing-claw protruding from the forward bending 'elbow' joint on his wings.

The dragon chirruped, managing to sound irritated, hungry, fearsome and bloody adorable all at the same time.

Eager to comply, for she felt a rising hunger within herself also, Nasuada gathered her new sheild-mate into her arms and drew back the velvet drape, stepping onto a plush rug.

Whatever she had expected, it was not this.

A dark wood table was placed in the left of the room, upon which rested a tray filled with eatibles. Behind the fruit bowl which rested in the center was a bowl piled high with gobbets of meat.

Immediatley Nasuada started toward the table, and plonked both dragonet and meat platter on the cushioned floor. The baby set about eating with typical childish gusto.

Meanwhile, Nasuada grabbed her bowl of stew, which she duely noted as containing succulent meat, and examined her surroundings.

The room's walls were a deep scarlet red, as was the carpet that flowed unbroken over the floor. There was a solitary couch in the right of the room, complete with fireplace, currently empty. The bubbling came from a strange looking lamp that was filled with colour changing bubbles. A door led to an unexplored bathroom.

Once she had finished her meal, Nasuada ambled into the bathroom and examined herself in the body length mirror hanging on the wall.

She had obviously been washed in her sleep, for her skin was clean and unmarked. Her hair was lustrous and shiny, bound in a simple ponytail. The bags were gone from under her eyes.

In all, she was a beautiful woman, Nasuada conceeded, but too thin.

Her hands dropped to her prominent collarbones with a involuntary gesture of wry amusment. She was too dedicated to the Varden to remember to eat.

Which brought her back to her current predicament. She had checked the entire room, and there was no windows, no possible escapes except from the magic-barred door.

She dressed in a long blue gown with purple sleeves, the prominent colours of the Varden. She then pinned her hair up and returned to her little dragon, and stroked his head.

"What am I going to do with you, baby?" She asked it despairingly. All to clearly she remembered the anguish on Murtagh's face at the Battle of the Burning Plains, where he'd slain Hrothgar. All to clearly she remembered the twisted hate on his face at the Battle of Dras'Leona. All to clearly.

She closed her eyes, and sat there, diamond tears making crystal rivulets upon her ebony skin.

((())))

Morzan stood smartly by his father's right. Behind him lurked Blohdwren, his abyss black eyes glistening, deep red hide catching the light like a deranged malovelent dream catcher of the purest velvet red. Next to him sprawled Master, almost invisible in the shadows, save for his honey gold, terrible, terrible eyes. And on the bone white chair, perched like a holy raven presiding over the fate of millions, was the king, dressed in robes of black. The Empire's sigil was emblazed on his cloak.

Morzan himself wore a wine red cape, to match his sword and tunic. The rest of his attire was black.

And before them, a striking queen of lies, was Nasuada the Betrayer.

Her dress was unadorned, but impressive, and blatantly defiant in the colours of her army. She had no weapons, no majestic attire, but simply radiated the air of command, beauty, and iron resolve. The hatchling at her side was what Morzan considered dangerously majestic, with it's flanged spikes and razor sharp teeth.

Morzan spouted no lie when he admitted he was amazed and subtly tempted by the awe inspiring rebel. Something about her made something deeply buried within him stir, like a hibernating bear twitching in his dreams.

"Galbatorix." She spat the name like a curse, but stayed within the bounds of political pleasantness.

"Nasuada." He replied, voice smooth and cajoling.

Silence weighed heavily upon them for a long time while the two sized each other up. Suddenly, Master rose from his position on the floor and stalked toward Nasuada. The king uttered a commanding growl.

Master did not reply, but simply bared his fangs at the woman, then brushed her forehead with his massive snout.

Then he oblingingly returned to the Lord's ( may he live for ever!) side.

"As Shruikan demonstrated, we bear you no ill will. True, you have uprisen against me in a hope to overthrow me, but yet the Skulblaka chose you, and so we shall forgive. I bear no ill will towards the Varden, elves and the dwarves, I would have been content to leave them to their haunts and take care of the Empire over which I find myself lord and master. True, I did things, terrible things in my youth that I regret and has caused many people much pain. But since then, I have recognised the err of my ways, I have forged myself anew. Now my only concern is my country, and the welfare of my citizens.

"Who started this war, Nasuada? Not I. Who provoked the attacks of thousands? Not I. So how do you preach wrongness when all I have done is manage my affairs? Join me, Nasuada, join me. Together, we can destroy the evil in this bountiful land. The rivers will be thick with gold! We will be safe and happy and fat! The Riders will return, to gently govern over our fiefdoms, dragonkind will resurface. We will throw off the elves, throw off their pressurized leaders! Do you not realise the Riders were puppets of the elves? Can you not realise how we were controlled, surpressed, undermined, insulted? Join me, Nasuada, join me, as I labour to bring about this vision of wealth and prosperity," The king persuaded. His voice was of honey, gilded lies and manipulative forces. His tones and inflections inspired confidence.

She simply raised her chin and proclaimed in loud, ringing tones, "I will never join you! We have fought and wept for defeat from your malformed rule! You torture the weak and undermine the strong. You twist minds and corrupt feelings. Love is your trump, the thing you lost when Jarvunosk was slain! You cannot control us, for our souls are freer then birds! You can chain us with your words and petty spells, you can harm our flesh with stinging wounds, but you cannot take the one thing you so want." Her voice turned derisive. "Poor Galbatorix. No one cares about you do they? Shruikan hates you, you had to erase Murtagh! How do you feel to know that? Jarvunosk would be ashamed of you, and the things you have done! To mourn is understandable, but to go to the extremes and kill everything? Those are the actions of a coward! I shall never join you willingly while breath is in my lungs, and you will never lay one finger on Skjor!"

Murtagh gasped and reeled back, shocked back into himself, back into wakefulness. He drew Zar'roc and charged towards the throne.

"_Murtagh!" _Thorn cried.

Young Skjor roared defiance. Nasuada's eyes flashed. Murtagh awoke. Thorn resurfaced. Shruikan lived. And for the first time in many long years, Galbatorix's eyes glinted with unshed tears of the things that could have been.


	7. Chapter 7, Fallen

And then it changed.

Skjor wailed as the first bolt struck his chest. Nasuada screamed and fell into the bloodless arms of her lover as he too fell. Just as the sword pierced Galbatorix's chest, and Shruikan roared.

Thorn keened, and tottered lifelessly to the ground, his Eldunari glowing red as it smashed.

Shruikan screeched and thundered to the floor, destroying the fragile corpse of his master.

Nasuada clutched her dead dragonet, her eyes still wide with the pretense of life, her glassy eyes staring forever more.

Murtagh fell soundlessly to the floor.

Saphira roared.

Loves died.

Loves lost.

Forgotten memories lead to broken hearts.


End file.
